


Instruction V

by DirtyDuchess



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, House Cleaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8514322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyDuchess/pseuds/DirtyDuchess
Summary: All that overtime means Joan needs a cleaner. But could she really trust someone in her beloved house?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little fun and light relief on this most awful, historical day.
> 
> With freak love and thanks to JoansGlove for encouraging my depraved mind and Ifitbelove for encouraging me to continue writing xx

“No, don’t stop. Rub harder!”  
I couldn’t help but feel that I was stuck in some surreal dream. The hard-up PhD student cleaning the house of middle class professionals by day in order to be able to study by evening and night, wondering if, having reached my early thirties, I’d ever have what these people owned; their detached houses and yards, expensive, minimalist sofas and full wine racks, the ability to pay menial wages to others to do the domestic tasks modern life left them no time for. Only THIS particular professional was very different from the rest of them. After several weeks I didn’t actually even know her name, the agency having just given me the address and said a “middle-aged woman” lived there alone. 

The first time I came to the house, a month ago, I’d laughed out loud. I’d never seen a cleaner, more modern house; the place was practically sterile. But bearing in mind the clear warning given to me by my boss that this client was extremely fastidious and not someone he wanted complaining (again) about his staff, I had a cautious look around the kitchen and found two A4 pages of detailed cleaning instructions handwritten in what looked like black cartridge pen. Fastidious was one word to describe this particular client. Eccentric or with OCD more like, I thought. 

As directed I opened the double cupboard under the sink. There were rows of expensive cleaning products in lines so straight it brought to mind the scene from Sleeping With The Enemy when Julia Roberts opened the kitchen cupboard to find her psycho ex-husband, Patrick Bergin, had been ‘tidying up.’ Then my eyes fell on the five deep stack of boxed latex gloves in a variety of sizes and I heard the hitch in my own breathing. BLACK latex gloves. Not the kind you could buy in your average high street drug store but ones that came from special shops catering to specific interests or that had to be ordered online. In my experience only certain people went to the trouble of sourcing such products. My opinion of the mysterious client changed immediately and my curiosity was piqued. Oh I was going to enjoy working in this house! Still, it required a great deal of self-discipline NOT to run into the bedrooms and start looking through the cupboards and drawers.

Instead I took out a new box of gloves in my size (knowing instinctively which would fit), opened it and pulled two from the opening. Drawing them slowly on, just the whisper of soft latex against my skin stirred a longing between my legs. My hitherto dull job suddenly became exciting. From that moment on I loved working there, exploring the house, but I was careful never to do anything untoward. I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was somehow being observed; it wouldn’t have surprised me if there were CCTV cameras watching my every move.

I’d taken the cleaning job for three reasons. Sure, I needed the money and the flexibility was perfect; I could work as much or as little as I wanted and the daytime hours were perfect given that I seemed to be much better at writing at night. The third reason was more complicated. Going back to that aforementioned “specific interest” – I confess that I had a thing for cleaning…and latex. I wore just running shorts and a vest, because it was physically hard, warm work, and a pair of gloves but if I thought I could have got away with it I’d have done it naked (apart from the gloves of course) like I did in my own apartment. But somehow the fear of a client coming home from work early had stopped me. On the one hand it was kind of thrilling, and the source of many a fantasy, the idea that a sexy businesswoman might come home and catch me. But the likely prospect of it being the beer-gutted husband who could just as easily arrive home instead ensured I kept a lid on things.

The thought of cleaning naked save for black latex gloves in this house, however, sent a thrill straight to my cunt that I was desperate to act upon. But something about the place, or it’s enigmatic owner, made me ultra cautious. A mysterious, dark woman…assuming that the old photograph on the sideboard of a serious-looking, ebony-haired girl in fencing gear was her. It was the only clue to her identity. Unlike the other houses I worked in, which were full of family portraits, this one was strangely devoid of personal effects. 

Until this afternoon. As I was cleaning the ensuite, my mind full of thoughts about the latest difficult chapter I was attempting to re-write, I looked up from scrubbing the sink to see her standing behind me. “Jesus!” I jumped a mile. I’d not heard a thing but I knew instinctively that this was her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The voice was deep, almost husky and immediately did things to my insides. “But I do like to see who is in my home, in my most intimate personal space, you know? My name’s Joan.”

Joan. I repeated the name in my head as I turned and took in the sight of a striking woman. Tall, over six foot, with dark, silver streaked hair sculpted into the biggest, most elegant bun I’d ever seen. She had strong, handsome, intelligent features; dark brows, a broad nose and full red lips. Her ears were unusually large. Tailored black trousers flowed over ample hips and long thighs, a fitted white shirt and black tie covered large breasts. Where did she work in a uniform, but live in a house like this? A senior-ranked cop? 

Trying not to think about uniforms and black latex, my mind immediately filled instead with an image of myself on my knees unbuttoning those trousers and easing them down over a promisingly large arse to expose those glorious hips; of latching my mouth onto one of them. Shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts I introduced myself, feeling supremely awkward given my skimpy attire and sweaty state. 

“Have you been doing this long?”  
I explained that I’d been working part-time for the agency for two years to finance my studies.  
“Yes, I saw from your file that you’re writing a PhD. What’s your field of work?” enquired Joan. I felt as though she was conducting a brain scan as her dark, intense eyes raked my face.  
Her lip curled slightly as I explained my research.  
“Ah, the social sciences….” Her tone and expression left me in no doubt that she didn’t approve. I straightened up feeling defiant and crossed my arms. The curled lip turned to a smirk and then a smile.

“Well, I’ve been generally satisfied with your work so far. I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I’m a fairly particular person and don’t allow just anyone into my home. After the imbecile your company sent me previously I insisted on extra vetting this time. Your….manager,” she waved her hand in the air as she searched for the right word, “obtained references from your other clients to confirm your trustworthiness. After some persuasion. And of course I have full copies of your police check, etcetera.” She smiled showing perfect white teeth.  
“Having satisfied myself that your work has generally been of a high standard and your presence in my home having not given me any cause for concern, I felt it was time to meet you in person to see if this could become a more long-term arrangement.”

Strange as this was, I actually felt oddly flattered, as though this imposing woman was complimenting me in some way by saying I WAS worthy of cleaning her toilet! The irony made me want to laugh but my desperate desire to stay in this house, in the presence of this confident, demanding woman ensured that I merely nodded my head in polite agreement. I’d never met anyone like her; she was completely captivating. Joan gazed at me from head to foot, took a step closer and said briskly, “back to business. Turn around if you would.” I felt her presence drawing closer as I turned to face the mirror and our reflections.  
“See here.” She pointed above my head to the left. “The mirror is smeared there from last week.”

“I’m sorry,” I stammered reaching up on tiptoes to wipe it clean without stopping to think that I’d only make it ten times worse. Joan grabbed my latex-clad wrist to prevent me. “No, no. Not like that. I think you may indeed benefit from some additional instruction to elevate your work to an excellent standard.” She let go of my wrist and took a step back, still towering over me. “Hhmm, and maybe a reaching step would be useful too.” I felt myself blush scarlet. 

Joan smiled at my response and began to roll up her shirtsleeves before reaching into her trouser pocket and drawing out her own pair of black latex gloves. I leant back against the sink to support myself, growing weak at the knees as I watched her slowly draw them on. She held each hand up in turn to fully stretch the dark latex over long fingers, her eyes never leaving my face. Her knowing smile told me she knew exactly the effect this was having on me. My clit twitched and my nipples rubbed against my vest as they tightened, my brain quickly flashing through a series of equally hot scenarios involving those large, capable-looking hands.

“Let’s start shall we?” This was clearly a rhetorical question.  
“Go and fetch some newspaper from the recycling bin.“ It didn’t occur to me to disagree. I knew perfectly well that using vinegar cleaner and newspaper was the best way to clean windows and mirrors. I did it every week (and was sure Joan knew this). But I had no intention of missing out on this. Whatever THIS was. I hurried back upstairs as fast as I could. 

Joan picked up the bottle of old-fashioned vinegar based window and glass cleaner from the side of the sink. “Just a little squirt.” She beckoned me closer with an inclination of that magnificent head. “Too much lubrication just makes a mess after all.” I really did almost laugh out loud this time. The lubrication oozing from between my legs was currently making an extensive and most delicious mess of my shorts. I moved in front of the sink again as Joan handed me the bottle and sprayed some cleaning product onto the mirror. I felt her come close again and heard the rip and scrunching of newspaper. “Now rub it in. A circular motion usually works best,” she murmured in my ear making me shiver with arousal. 

Joan watched me in the mirror without speaking, a dark, brooding look on her face. Was it desire? Was she turned on too? Fixing eye contact, she leaned over my shoulder, pressing her full, heavy breasts into my upper back. I felt my body writhe with lust at the contact. Her breasts were soft but I could feel the power and heat of her strong body as she pressed against me, my arse moving back desperately seeking further contact. I groaned as she gripped my hip with her other hand and pressed the length of her body against me. “Start rubbing,” she murmured, pressing her nose against my ear. Her large hand covered mine and our fingers intertwined as she joined the rhythm of my polishing motion. Her knee slipped between my legs and she pressed her thigh hard into my cunt, firmly embedding my shorts in my sticky channel. “Fuuck!” I groaned feeling my hips move of their own accord, my pelvis tilting to connect my clit to her hot thigh. 

The hand on my hip slid under my vest, covering my belly before moving over my breasts. She teased them in turn, brushing fingertips and then nails over my hard nipples before gripping one between thumb and forefinger, pulling and pressing, ramping up the pressure. My back arched and my head sought a connection with her’s; I rubbed the crown of it against her cheek like a cat. She pressed me forward and began to move her thigh against me. I heard myself moaning as though from far away. “Concentrate,” she instructed, gripping and drawing my attention back to my hand, which had ceased polishing the mirror. “We women can multi-task, you know that. It’s the rubbing that’s key to a gleaming mirror. Remember that circular movement.”

Trying desperately hard to focus through the fog of arousal in my brain I resumed polishing the mirror and fought my instincts as I stilled my body. “No, no, don’t stop,” crooned Joan, her full lips brushing the back of my neck and sending goosebumps down my spine. She pressed her body against me again and moved in the same rhythmic motion of our simultaneously circling hands. “That’s it.” Waves of arousal coursed through my body. I was so turned on, so wet and already so close. This woman electrified me and in that moment I’d have done anything she told me to.

Moving together, Joan’s heavy breathing in my ear, I slid my right hand behind me to touch her hip, to grasp her closer to me. “No!” she said pushing me forcefully against the sink with the whole weight of her body. She pressed my engorged clit repeatedly into the enamel rim with her circling hips and sank her teeth into my bare shoulder, distracting me completely. I felt a wave of slick wetness seep from me and my cunt contracted repeatedly as I came hard. I slumped over the sink utterly spent.

“No, don’t stop. Rub harder! Until ALL the smears have gone.”  
Acting as though nothing had happened Joan lifted her weight from my back and continued to move my hand until the mirror was spotless, whilst I concentrated on regaining my breath. “That’s much better. Are you almost done in here?”  
Unable to speak I merely nodded, my fuzzy brain attempting to make sense of what had just happened. 

“Excellent. Until next week, then. I think we’ll focus on your floor cleaning technique; I’ve a new polish I’d like you to test for me.”


End file.
